Falling
by GatorGrrrl
Summary: An extension of the motel scene in the movie after Jack & Ennis' reunion. Slightly fluffy.


**_TITLE: _**Falling  
**_WARNING:_** M/M sexual situations, bad words  
**_DISCLAIMER:_** I do not own _Brokeback Mountain, _the story or the movie. I am not profiting in any way except creatively.

**_A/N:_** This story is an extension of the motel scene in the movie after Jack & Ennis' reunion. Much happier than my last story.

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Jack wakes up with a bursting bladder and Ennis' callused hand on his stomach. The room is dark, but as his eyes adjust, features of the tiny motel room reveal their silhouettes in a gauze of moonlight that filters around the heavy curtain covering the only window. The room is hot, the heavy air pressing down on them like a shroud. Only his right foot is covered by the sheet.

The sound of even breathing emanates from beside him and a small smile curves his lips, lingering there. It's a special smile, one reserved for those rare moments when peace eclipses fear, when everything else dissolves away.

This is one of those moments.

Covering Ennis' hand with his own, he settles his fingers in the spaces between Ennis'. Ennis sighs at the contact and Jack can feel the warmth of his breath against the curve of his bare shoulder. Ennis moves his hand slightly, flexing his fingers beneath Jack's, and the pressure against Jack's stomach makes him grind his teeth against the call of nature he's trying to ignore.

The moment seems so fragile that he doesn't want to shatter it.

He turns his head to look at Ennis in the dim light. He's lying on his left side with his left arm buried under the pillow; his right hand is touching Jack, holding him in place, branding him irreversibly.

But Jack can't hold it off any longer and unless he wants to add piss to the collection of bodily fluids on the sheets, he needs to get up. Curling his fingers under Ennis' palm, he gently lifts his hand up, bringing it to his lips and brushing a kiss across the rough skin before laying it on the bed in the small space between them.

He throws his legs over the side of the bed and stands, joints popping from disuse, and shuffles towards the bathroom, nearly tripping over a wayward boot. He makes his way to the bathroom and steps inside, the linoleum cool beneath his bare feet, and reaches one hand blindly for the door as the other snakes along the inside wall for the light switch.

Squinting against the bright fluorescent light, he stumbles to the toilet, where he empties his bladder as he props his weight against the wall with his left hand. His heavy eyelids droop half-shut. He's pleasingly sore and contentedly exhausted and a sigh escapes his lips at the memory of Ennis' beautiful hands against his skin.

Four years. Four years of separation. Four years of trying to forget. Four years of pretending he didn't care, of pretending that that summer didn't matter. And he'd managed to almost convince himself, too, until someone had actually _known_ the general whereabouts of one Ennis Del Mar. Jack had nearly decided to stop asking after him.

He was in Riverton, it turns out. And Riverton was on the way to his folks' place in Lightning Flat. Well, kinda. If "on the way" meant 150 miles out of the way to the east.

It had all been worth it – all the waiting, all the wondering, all the driving and anxiety and chain smoking until his throat burned. Because when he looked up and saw Ennis at the top of those stairs, the last four years seemed to melt away. They were nineteen again and the air was crisp and the world went on forever.

"Jack fuckin' Twist," Ennis had said with a smile and Jack knew in that instant that he'd found what he'd been missing. Ennis hoarded smiles like they were precious things, so when he spent one on Jack, Jack knew it was something to treasure.

He'd felt the joy all the way to his toes.

Jack jerks awake when his chin hits his chest and he straightens, yawning. The handle clinking against the ceramic tank when he flushes seems loud in the still air of the bathroom. His mouth is dry and he walks to the sink and turns on the faucet, cupping his hands under the stream and bending to take a drink. He finishes by throwing some water on his face, standing and taking a look at himself in the mirror. It's small and cracked and it makes his face look asymmetrical, but he can see enough to notice that his lips are swollen.

A flash of recent memory bursts across his mind – a quick look around, a few steps backwards, an unexpected impact that knocks his breath loose, an aggressive kiss that takes it away completely.

Jack almost laughs 'cause, yeah, that's one he's gonna remember.

Another yawn overtakes him and he turns towards the door. He means to cut the light before he opens the door, but it ends up backwards, and he's out the door before the light's off, but then his fingers convulse around the switch and he can't quite manage to throw it.

Ennis has shifted; he's lying on his back, lips parted slightly, bare chest rising and falling with each breath. His left leg is tangled in the sheet, his right leg is uncovered. The sheet covers just enough to entice the imagination.

Except Jack doesn't need to imagine anything. He knows every square inch by heart. Because to him, Ennis is the world and his body is the map. It leads him to treasure and to undiscovered places. It leads him to exploration and conquest.

But most of all, it leads him home.

He can't tear his eyes away, just stares unblinking at the way the tendrils of yellow light dance across Ennis' skin, accentuating rugged terrain that Jack knows well. It's a topography that's forever burned into Jack's skin, like if he dipped his hands into warm clay, he could recreate it.

It suddenly occurs to him that the man is beautiful, but, holy fuck, he could never say that to Ennis. Not in a million years. But that doesn't change the truth of it. There are a lot of things he wants to tell Ennis, but can't, whether due to his inability to say them or to Ennis' inability to hear them.

So he keeps them inside his head and does his best to express them in ways that they'll both understand. But sometimes they crowd behind his eyes until he can't see straight and clog his throat until he can hardly breathe.

Like now, when it's still and the quiet wraps warmly around them. When the world outside passes by in muted silence and the world inside, the only one that matters, exists only for them.

"What're you lookin' at?"

The words are spoken in a raspy voice and draw Jack back to reality. He locks eyes with Ennis, who is propped up on his elbows, squinting back at him in the dim light. A slow smile spreads across Jack's face, outshining even the 75W light bulb that throws his shadow across the worn carpet.

"You, cowboy. That's what." When Ennis doesn't respond, he tilts his head to the side and asks, "Is that a problem?"

Ennis doesn't answer, not directly, but one corner of his mouth turns up just slightly and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly, holding Jack's gaze for a long moment. "Christ," he finally says, vehemently, sitting up and looking around the room. "It's hotter 'n shit in here." And he peels the remainder of the sheet away, standing up.

Jack smiles again. "Friend," he says, watching Ennis yawn luxuriously and run his hand along the length of his torso, ending the movement by scratching just below his belly button, "ain't no one better 'n you when it comes to statin' the obvious."

"Hmph." Ennis just looks at him for a moment before walking towards him, stopping within inches of Jack, who's leaning against the bathroom doorframe, looking at Ennis amusedly. Slowly, Ennis leans in and tucks his nose behind Jack's left ear, bracing himself with his left hand against the wall next to Jack's head. He inhales deeply then pulls back, his dark eyes meeting Jack's across the short distance. "You stink," he says, cigarette-scented breath tickling Jack's cheek. "How's that for obvious?"

The playfulness has morphed into something more untamed and Jack suddenly swallows. He curls his fingers into fists as his pulse throbs wildly in his neck. "Well, I smell like you, cowboy," he manages to say in a hoarse voice. He can't think clearly with Ennis so close.

It suddenly dawns on him that that's the way Ennis likes it.

Ennis' eyes flit to Jack's neck, to the racing pulse just visible beneath the thin skin, and the tip of his tongue darts past his lips then back again, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake. "Good," Ennis whispers, the sound more like a growl from deep inside his chest, and he presses the full length of his lean body against Jack, who has to take a step backwards to keep from tumbling to the floor. He can feel Ennis hard against his stomach and grinds his fingertips into the sharp edges of Ennis' hips.

Ennis keeps pressing closer, closer, compressing them into one person. His fingers are tangled in Jack's hair hard enough to cause pain, but Jack doesn't feel it, doesn't feel anything except Ennis' lips on his neck and the heat of his skin, the way it slides against his own like silk.

They stumble backwards, into the bathroom, and Jack feels boneless and malleable, hears himself say into the thick air, "Ennis. Ennis, we're gonna fall."

Ennis looks up suddenly, his eyes wide open and unblinking, pupils small in the bright fluorescent light. He relaxes his grip on Jack's hair, letting his fingers brush against Jack's cheek. His breathing is ragged, but his voice is soft and clear when he whispers, "Too late."

END

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